The Forgotten Princess
by Mandarin Huntress
Summary: Sucky summary attempt #12579: When unremarkable Lianne has finally found a nook in the Tortallan royal family, a foreign nobleman shatters her aspirations with his manipulating plot for power........AGH, that was pathetic....
1. Arrival

Well, this is my first non-anime fic and my first fic for ff.net…Anyway, review if you feel like it (I'm not one to demand reviews), and constructive criticism is not scorned. The only reason I'm asking for reviews is that I need suggestions for the continuation of the plot… If you really really really can't stand my fic, please don't flame it—I'm not forcing you to read it, remember? Alright, I've said enough, here's the story already. More of my ramblings at the bottom. I don't own any characters; they all belong to the beloved Tamora Pierce!!!  
  
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"I don't want to go back," Lianne confessed. "I just…don't feel a part of my family. They're so perfect. Always."  
  
Lady haMinch snorted—very ladylike, of course—at her fosterling's absurd notion. "Dear, you've not been with your family near long enough to make such a judgement. From the pretense they must show to the public you cannot determine their actual characters!"  
  
Glancing away, Lianne considered the truth of Lady haMinch's words; though she, like every Tortallan citizen, was familiar with the reputation of each prince and princess, she hadn't spoken to them—except on short, irregular holiday intervals—since she was 10. Even then, Roald was often away on knightly journeys, Kalasin was involved in Court events, and Liam had just become a page or squire. But as of now, Lianne knew that Roald represented the perfect son, thoughtful, honorable, dutiful; Kalasin portrayed the perfect daughter, beautiful, spirited, enchanting; Liam honored the royal family every breathing day with his heroics and charming wit; Jasson could only be described as brilliant, not even 16 but already a famed mage and celebrated scholar. She knew that if her family was not perfect, then they were quite near to it.  
  
Which led her back to her original problem, a problem that Lady haMinch, despite her abrupt charity, had not helped at all to resolve: while the rest of the Contes stood a revered pedestal, Lianne could not hold a candle to any of her siblings. Her limp, nondescript, blondish-brownish hair disgraced the name of princess. Where her family flaunted sapphire or ebony eyes, Lianne's were a muddy hazelish. Though Lianne had spent countless years in the convent and under Lady haMinch's mentoring, she still lacked any remarkable brains, charm, or lady skills. She had even been unable to master self defense and fighting arts, the final possibility to gain her family's respect. While listing her faults, however, Lianne quickly disregarded her talents; they were few, she dismissed, and of little use. What did it matter if she loved to sing and play the harp? Even her Gift! A measly ability to call fire, not to mention with an hideous sickly green- gold color!  
  
"Listen to me, my dear," Lady haMinch's deep voice called Lianne back to the present. "Though you will deny my words, I shall tell you anyway. You are lovely, Lianne, no matter how much you degrade yourself. Your brothers and sister will love you for who you are, how you act, not for your dancing ability or your beauty. You, yourself, get to know them beyond what you initially see. And I promise that if life is too terrible, you may always come back and visit us here."  
  
Stunned by the lady's uncharacteristic compassion, Lianne could barely respond to her hug. As she curtsied, she thanked Lady haMinch for the past four years and bid the household goodbye with tears. Lianne doubted the Royal Palace would welcome her as readily and unconditionally as the haMinch manor had.  
  
"Farewell, milady," she uttered quietly. "Please tell Uline I said goodbye."  
  
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After the long journey from haMinch to Corus, Lianne was exceedingly grateful for the chance to stand and stretch her cramped legs. At the moment the carriage stopped, she moved to burst out of the door, but heard again Lady haMinch's reminder to let a footman open the door for her. Groaning in pain, Lianne cursed the ancient tradition of overly-dependant, proper ladies.  
  
At last, she emerged on the arm of tall, sandy-haired, well-muscled young man about her age. This was no footman, this was—  
  
"Liam!" Lianne exclaimed, only to be gathered up in a suffocating hug by her older brother. She was happy to see him; of all her siblings, Liam had put forth the most effort on her visits to make her feel at home in the palace.  
  
"Could it be—Lianne of Naxen, risen from the dead?" Liam asked in mock amazement.  
  
Lianne attempted to glare at her brother and the eight-year-old joke, but failed.  
  
Leading her out of the courtyard and into the palace, Liam guided Lianne to the set of rooms she had stayed in each Midwinter and Midsummer.  
  
"Father wants to see you after supper," he informed her. "The rest of them, Mother and Father, Jasson and Roald, are eating in the Great Hall. If you don't feel up to the Great Hall tonight, you can eat in the page's and squire's hall with me."  
  
"Th—thank you. I—I'll be ready in a moment," Lianne stammered in astonishment. She had not guessed anyone would welcome her as kindly as he had. "I'd just like to change out of my travel clothes." As he stepped out of the door, a servant conveniently appeared to deprive her of any independence whatsoever.  
  
"Really," she assured the servant girl from behind a dressing curtain, "I can clothe myself." She briskly pulled on a dark green fur-lined gown and applied a bit of the lip color that lay enticingly on the dresser, sighing disappointedly at the fact she could do nothing with her hair; while she had long since acknowledged that she would never be pretty, it didn't hurt to try.  
  
"Alright," Lianne announced, leaving her rooms. "Let's go!"  
  
"Come, my beautiful sister," Liam declared with an elaborate bow. "Dinner awaits us."  
  
  
  
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Okay, so what do you think? I have thought of a few directions that this fic can go, but I need YOUR help! *dons an atrocious top hat and points enticingly to reading audience* The choices are a) psychotic Lianne, driven completely off her rocker from jealously and loneliness (I can re-change this chapter to its old state, I suppose) or b) non-psychotic Lianne, includes feminist princess option or the old unhappily-engaged routine. Yes, quite true to life, that's what it comes down to: severely neurotic…or not. Anyway, I know it's pretty short, but thanks for reading, please tell me what should happen! 


	2. Supper

Many thanks to those who reviewed! I decided to change the end of the first chapter anyway; Lianne has agreed to accompany Liam for dinner. Except I kinda messed it up when I changed it, so I'll go back and fix it *again.* Oh, well…I'm so happy, I discovered how to make little accent marks! ^_^ It's the little things…As for the story, I forgot about the evening prayer and about no one eating until all are present, and I couldn't figure out how to add those elements in with little effort. So just ignore their absence. ^_^ I don't own anything except the plot and the other squires, but some of their names belong to Tammy Pierce, too…Anyway…  
  
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While Liam spoke quickly to a man inside the squires' hall, Lianne steeled herself to not giggle brainlessly at any little thing her brother or his friends said, to not stare at the handsome squires she knew must be in there somewhere, to not fulfill any expectations of the shy girl she really was.  
  
"Princess Lianne of Contè!" boomed the attendant Liam had exchanged words with.  
  
Lianne whirled around and scowled fiercely at her brother, but he grinned and gave her a push into the hall. "Go on, now!" he whispered.  
  
Smothering her immediate irritation and anxiousness, Lianne plastered a smile onto her unwilling face and entered. As she stepped in and curtsied to the mass of boys and young men, they clambered into upright standing then into deep bows. Lianne couldn't help laughing softly at their antics. Seeing her jerky hand movement to sit, they did; Lianne was momentarily stunned by the power she had suddenly displayed.  
  
"Your highness." Lianne looked up to an approaching man: the training master, she presumed.  
  
"Do I have the honor of addressing Padraig haMinch?" Lady haMinch had told her the story behind the former training master's resignation and her brother's assignment. Lianne curtsied to the hardened, scarred man; from his tanned, leathery skin to the direct, tough expression that looked as if it had been carved into his face by a lifetime of hardships, Lord Padraig's formidable figure and demeanor easily intimidated her.  
  
In response to her quasi-question, he nodded. "Will you be dining with us tonight?" Lord Padraig's voice held a tone of annoyance, she realized, making her even more uncomfortable.  
  
Where is Liam? she thought frantically. How dare he leave me alone like this, with his training master, who, by the way, happens to be quite irritated? "Oh, yes," Lianne replied faintly, "I believe so."  
  
"I assume you would prefer sitting at the head of the table? A lady's place is not among the men in this setting." Lord Padraig indicated a seat next to the one he had risen from, but, to her great relief, Lianne felt her brother's strong grip on her shoulder.  
  
"I wouldn't put you out like that, my Lord," Liam intervened with great persuasiveness. "I'm sure there's another guest who would be more in need of that seat. It's no discomfort, however, if Lady Lianne sits with us."  
  
After a moment of initial doubt, Lord Padraig consented, clapping Liam's shoulder amicably.  
  
Drawing Lianne by the arm to his seat and the empty one beside it, Liam murmured, "It helps a great deal to be on my Lord's good side."  
  
Lianne shook her head, smiling. "I'm forced to wonder what lengths it takes to get on his good side; I never figured you for the mindless lackey."  
  
Grinning, he responded, "By no means, Lianne. My Lord favors the sword, thus favoring the top fencer."  
  
"Liam's lucky that Lord Padraig doesn't require modesty as a trait in his favorites," quipped a tall, dark-haired young man.  
  
"Oh, and I suppose that's your excuse for never getting into my Lord's good graces, then?" retorted Liam. To Lianne he said, "This is my—ahem—friend, Julian of Cherell." Gesturing to each as he spoke, Liam continued, "Willas of Disart, invincible with the bow and arrow even by my exalted test of standard"—he was interrupted by an assorted round of snorts and scoffs. Liam sniffed and went on loftily, "Lawrence of Sendeth, the greatest mathematical mind in the realm. And this is my sister, her Highness Lianne."  
  
A wave of "Hullo" ran through the collected squires, and Lianne replied with a small smile and greeting of her own, praying to the heavens that she wasn't blushing; Gods knew she was nervous and awkward enough. Finally realizing he and Lianne hadn't yet retrieved trays of dinner, Liam rose to obtain food for the both of them. Silent, Lianne stared at her hands in embarrassment until one of Liam's friends—the handsome Julian—broke the uncomfortable quiet.  
  
"Liam says you spent four years at the Minchi estates, with our Lord's sister?" he inquired, gazing at her with amazing golden-brown eyes.  
  
"Yes," Lianne replied simply, unnerved by those astonishing eyes.  
  
"Padraig's sister?" The brown-haired Willas shook his head. "I don't envy you that time."  
  
Swallowing her uncertainty, Lianne resolved to actually make conversation. "For a matriarch, she actually was less domineering than I expected, even kind," she said thoughtfully. "I believe I would rather spend ten years with her than a lone year with your training master fellow. I don't envy you."  
  
Lawrence, a brawny young man that hardly looked the part of a mathematician, laughed shortly. "He enjoys dealing out the punishment duties, that's for sure. I once got armory duty for breathing too loudly."  
  
"Well," protested Willas. "During staff practice, Stephan of Tasride—quite a nasty youth, Lianne—hit me illegally across the knee, and Padraig imparted a whole month's stable duty for stepping out of routine. A month!"  
  
"That's nothing!" Julian contributed in the spirit of discipline stories. "Before Lord Henar chose me as his squire, Padraig actually served as my knight-master for three weeks!"  
  
A wince of sympathy, one that Lianne could share, passed over their faces. As a tray filled with meat, rice, and vegetables slid in front of her, Liam rejoined the group.  
  
"Speaking of my Lord Padraig, I assume?" he asked, and without waiting for a reply launched into an absurd tale of cruel, unwarranted punishment on the part of the beloved training master.  
  
Occasionally adding in her own comments, Lianne ate and laughed heartily with the group of squires. When supper ended, she could not thank Liam enough for dramatically reducing her shyness without her even realizing it; however, she only expressed her gratitude once and kept the other thanks silent. After she had returned to her rooms, mentally reliving the past hour's activity, Lianne could barely recognize the personality who had sat in her place. Now, she actually felt at home with her brother and his friends and more affable with the palace as a whole.  
  
Lianne pushed open the door to see a startling figure sitting in the large armchair. Her previous merriment immediately drained, Lianne froze.  
  
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If you have any suggestions or if you just want to, please review! Thanks as ever for reading. ^_^ 


	3. Visit

My gratitude to reviewers! I do appreciate all comments, and I can see where you're coming from--I AM going to give her a personality, never fear! (It doesn't hurt to remind me, though. ^_^) My goal with Lianne's apparent imperfection was to reveal her self-insecurities, so she can evolve into a dynamic, as opposed to a perfect static, character (it's like her own opinions are coloring my narrative...that happens a bit in this section, too, I suppose), but I guess I didn't do a very good job of it. To answer Mage Melery's question, when Padraig commented on the impropriety of a LADY (sorry I have to keep writing in caps, but as I'm rather incompetent with computers, I have no idea how to carry over bold or italics to ff.net from Word)...where was I? Oh, yes, when he spoke of a lady sitting at the table, he meant a noble lady of the court; Lianne, by this conservative's definition, is a lady trained at the convent with that end in mind, while any female squires or pages to  
him would be, well, squires or pages. Being the aforementioned hard-headed conservative that he is, Padraig still doesn't deem it "right" for a noble-lady-of-the-court to sit with squires. I'm positive there are girl pages and squires in there somewhere, and despite any of his misgivings, Padraig treats them equal to the guys. WHEW!!! What a speech. Sorry `bout that. ^_^ Alright, to the story...And I apologize for the cliff-hanger, mostly since the second part isn't that exciting; I only stopped where I did because it was the beginning of a new scene...I bet you were expecting some evil convent nemesis or insane stalker or another terribly fascinating character. Sorry to disappoint you...Oh yes, and I own nothing.  
  
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"Father?" Lianne whispered weakly. Immediately smoothing her dress, her mind flicked from image to image of her former plans for this first meeting that were quickly withering. Lianne swept a deep curtsy and stared at the floor.  
  
"Please rise, Lianne," the king said with a chuckle, standing himself. "You don't have to curtsy here, just the two of us. Either Lady haMinch has a greater talent for brainwashing than I'd expected, or"--he sighed--"it's been too long since I've seen you."  
  
"It's not Lady haMinch, well, at least not much," Lianne replied, smiling shyly. "I wanted to make a good impression. As you said, it's been a long time."  
  
"And you have." Her father gathered her into a tight hug, which she returned tearfully; surpassing any of her expectations, Lianne had been greeted with astonishing acceptance and love.  
  
"Tonight," Jonathan continued, "a ball, following your official introduction to court, will be held to celebrate your return."  
  
"A ball? For me?" Lianne echoed in disbelief. Despite her original thrill at a ball--and in her HONOR, no less!--she soon realized that not everyone would appreciate her graceless, splendorless entrance, and Lianne doubted she could stand a crowd of disappointed courtiers. Shaking her head, she formulated an excuse quickly, "I really don't have anything to wear..."  
  
Laughing, her father responded in mock chastisement, "Don't try that with me; if you let shyness handicap you, Lianne, you won't get anywhere as a princess." As if reading her mind, he said, "The only way you would disappoint anyone would be if you withdrew, a hermit, into your chambers and avoided these kind of events."  
  
After a brief pause of affirmation, Lianne ducked her head in agreement. "Alright," she consented. "But I still have nothing to wear."  
  
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"Don't ye even dare move!" scolded the hairdresser, slapping the inquisitive hand that approached Lianne's somehow curled hair. Sullenly, Lianne retreated to slouching in her chair; it had been at least over an hour, yet she had not moved an inch. For the first time in her life, she was thankful that her hair was famously unalterable in its flat state, thus was not forced to suffer this kind of tribulation regularly.  
  
Intrepidly, Lianne ventured a nonchalant finger to cautiously twirl one spiral strand, only to be smacked again.  
  
"I've been th' royal coiffeur fer near over twenty `ears," the hairdresser interjected firmly, "and I `ave no qualms about slappin' th' li'l royal children when they're interferin' wiv my art." As Lianne nodded in solemn consent, the older woman pronounced, "Yer done, finally. Ye've th' most stubborn `air I've ever seen, but yer done. Quite beautiful, if I do say so meself."  
  
"Thank you," Lianne murmured in amazement, meaning both the compliment and for the stunning work. "It's been a long time since my hair has experienced anything but limp."  
  
"I imagine," replied the woman with a smile. "Now, child, I'll get yer face paint, though it's not me expertise." She proceeded to powder Lianne's face with a light layer of dried egg white, rosy her cheeks with crushed red petals, and color her shining eyes with a darker crimson of clay paint. (a/n: can you tell I enjoy details?) A stunning ruby paint for her small lips completed the magnificent ensemble of hair, face paint, and--of course--dress. The finest thing she had ever laid eyes upon in her life, Lianne's scarlet gown featured a high bodice inlaid with swirling golden designs, from which flowed her heavy velvet skirt and her long, billowing velvet sleeves. Over the dress she donned a thin, gold, clasp-less overcoat that, as she stood from her frozen position with stiff muscles, trailed behind her in a graceful train.  
  
Careful not to disturb the mass of curls that cascaded down from their pinned-up station, Lianne strolled slowly to the door, where she was met by another servant.  
  
"To the Great Stair and the Queen's ballroom," he told her, bowing.  
  
Uncontrollably nervous yet intensely exited, Lianne nodded and followed him to her introduction.  
  
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I know it's very short (I believe the author's note is longer than the story today!) and very tedious, but I hope things will take a turn for the more interesting. Also, I apologize for all the "Pretty Dress" details and everything; I can get pretty carried away. ^_^ Thanks for reading! 


	4. Ball

Sorry about the wait! I've been so infernally busy with school *shudders* lately...Hopefully, I'll be able to crank out the chapters more quickly, especially now that I've actually formulated some kind of plot for the story! Hooray!!! Alright, finally, the story...I own nothing except Julian, Elise, and the peeps' personalities. ^_^  
  
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In the comfortable chambers outside of the ballroom doors, Lianne paced, unable to take advantage of any comfort they would've yielded. Glancing up at the herald, who observed her rather disapprovingly, she stopped pacing and slid quickly onto the couch. However, too fidgety to sit at all, Lianne ended up carefully inspecting the perfection of her lip color in a large mirror near the door.  
  
"You know what to do?" the herald inquired.  
  
Quite embarrassed, Lianne shook her head. "I'm afraid not."  
  
"Once you are announced, step down the stairs, at the bottom of which is the royal dais. Curtsy, then His Majesty will guide you into the first dance." The herald offered a smile of encouragement. "I'm sure you will be fine."  
  
Another herald stepped through the door Lianne had entered in and nodded at them, then exited again.  
  
"Alright, then," he murmured. Casting open the great door, the herald boomed, "Her Highness, Princess Lianne of Contè!"  
  
As she "glided" down the stunningly huge stairs, all of Lady haMinch's nagging lessons concerning floating down stairs instantly returning, Lianne nervously surveyed the crowd. Catching a glance of certain squires bellowing their approval through their fellow attendees' applause, her thin, forced smile relaxed into a broad grin. Finally at the bottom of the extensive stairs, she approached the royal dais and curtsied her best.  
  
When Lianne found herself presented with the king's hand, she accepted it and rose from the floor. The orchestra struck up a waltz, and they immediately commenced whirling around the ballroom floor. Though she originally attempted to concentrate on the dancing, Lianne realized it was easier to simply let herself be twirled and led through the steps instead. Melting the court audience into mere shadows, the entire world narrowed to one glittering floor and two glittering figures. At last, after what seemed a lifetime of dancing (but not an unpleasant lifetime, Lianne noted), the music wound down and was drowned out by courtiers' clapping. The grandly dressed lords and ladies flooded the dancing floor; the king led his daughter off the floor and to the royal dais.  
  
"Lovely entrance." Queen Thayet rose from her throne and embraced Lianne. "It's so wonderful to finally have you home for good."  
  
"Quite," Roald added. "I hardly know my own sister." Momentarily shedding the usual quiet and solitary nature Lianne had noticed him to possess in the past, he kissed her hand with a dashing air that reminded her of Liam's own charm. Perhaps the royal family shared more bonds than perfection, bonds that she too could join!  
  
Lianne smiled gratefully to both of them, replying, "I'm happy to be home."  
  
The golden-skinned, beautiful Shinkokami stepped forward to greet her sister in law. "It is splendid to see you again," she said in articulate, heavily accented Common, almost smiling. "I hope we may become closer, as sisters."  
  
Lianne had only met Shinkokami twice and even then had spoken less than five sentences to her, but the older girl had been extremely kind. She struggled with something fitting to say in response. "I hope so, also. You are always very gracious, and I will be delighted to know you better." At Lianne's words the crown princess's smile widened slightly.  
  
Nodding, pleased, at the fortuitous actions of his children, Jonathan turned to Thayet. He bowed deeply and inquired beguilingly, "Shall we dance, then?" Thayet laughed and took his offered hand to the ballroom floor. Moments later, the crown heirs followed them.  
  
"Marvelous to see old-timers like our parents still in love, eh?" murmured Liam, who had just sauntered over to where Lianne had stepped down from the dais.  
  
"Yes it is," she concurred. "Though it does a bit depress those of us who still have yet to find that love."  
  
"Oh, lay off the morbid spirit!" her brother protested. "Here, dance with me." Having discovered that she actually enjoyed dancing, Lianne gladly joined the brisk gavotte. Perhaps because she possessed little talent in the area, Lianne had never previously taken pleasure in waltzes or gavottes; suddenly she felt as though she did hold some promise, and as she made spirited progression around the ballroom floor, Lianne resolutely disposed of the rest of her negative dancing preconceptions.  
  
Once the next dance had ended, Lianne and Liam headed toward a secluded corner near the refreshments table in silent yet mutual agreement.  
  
"Absolutely smashing entrance," approved a deep, drawling voice. Lianne turned to see a ridiculously cavalier Julian of Cherell, and she couldn't help laughing at the haughty, saucy, totally uncharacteristic look on his face and the jaunty perch of his stylish feathered cap.  
  
"Why, thank you, good sir," Lianne played along, smoothing her skirts coyly. Somehow, though she had first met him only hours earlier, she felt as if she had known Julian long enough to interact with him as she did her brother: freely and amicably.  
  
"Not `sir' until Midwinter!" Liam contradicted, elbowing Julian out of his act. "You really are--oh, gods." He sighed dreamily, gazing past his companions. "Excuse me, I must leave you two, perhaps for the evening."  
  
While Liam wandered by the refreshments table, Lianne looked confusedly to Julian. "What in the world is he doing?"  
  
"Three words," Julian answered pityingly. He explained, ticking them off on his fingers as he went, "Elise. Of. Fenrigh."  
  
"I know Elise." Lianne recognized both the name and the girl's pretty face. "We were in the same music class at the convent."  
  
"Lovely girl, isn't she?" he commented dryly.  
  
"At least in her looks and singing ability," Lianne said quietly. "Elise has quite a caustic disposition."  
  
"So I've noticed." Pulling off his cap, Julian ran an absent-minded hand through his jet-black hair, obviously living through a painful memory concerning the pert beauty. "You like music, then?"  
  
"Yes, very much," Lianne replied, unable to keep her face from forming a smile at the thought. "I'm partial to the large harp and the lute, and I love to sing. Do you like music, then?"  
  
"Unfortunately for my male squire's ego, yes. Your dear brother delights in giving me a hard time in regards to that venue."  
  
"Why don't I have trouble picturing that?" she laughed. "What's your favorite instrument?"  
  
Julian grinned, responding, "Probably the lyre or the flute. More than instruments, though, I, too, enjoy singing."  
  
"I think you'd have a wonderful deep voice for it," Lianne told him. Suddenly, she was--for no apparent reason that she could see--rather embarrassed by what she had just said. For the next few minutes, she stood in shy silence and watched her brother's amusing flirting misadventures; it seemed Lady Elise was unimpressed by Liam's poetic passion.  
  
"Lianne?" She turned to Julian, to see his absurd, hilarious overly-gentlemanly manner again in place. "I thank you for the compliment, kind lady. Please, permit my humble personage to dance with you."  
  
"Alright," she agreed with an irrepressible smile, "though you're undoubtedly anything but humble."  
  
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Accompanied by Liam and Julian--she was told that the other two squires, Willas and Lawrence, had spent the evening pursuing their own previously-selected female company--Lianne spent a long evening in the Queen's ballroom and returned to her rooms near midnight.  
  
She wasn't sure what to think of her new friendship with Julian. It had been almost eight years since she had made any true men friends, or even acquaintances. Every time she began to simply forget about any misgivings, she would abruptly wonder if there was anything more to her friendly feelings towards the sociable Julian. As long as they were friends, would she always wonder?  
  
Lianne shook her head determinedly, burrowing underneath the bedcovers she had just dived into. It was better to just interact as she had done and to take any complexities from there; after all, she had only arrived at the palace today. Amazingly enough, Lianne had almost forgotten about her original apprehensions for her first day at the palace, and she was thoroughly pleased with how everything had progressed this far.  
  
At last, Lianne drifted off into a long-awaited, contented sleep.  
  
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See, it was actually a long chapter this time! ^_^ Thanks for dropping in! Please review if you think the story is deserving! 


	5. Afternoon

Yay! I finally got a chance to write the next chapter…you know, I absolutely despise school…and it is a very, very LONG chapter! Hooray!!! I own nothing except, well, anything that Tamora Pierce doesn't feature in her books. All the stuff that's from her books is, well, hers. ^_^ You know what I mean.  
  
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"Mmmrffpluuuuurrggg…" Lianne lugged herself out of bed and to the bathroom, where she groped blindly for the basin of water she knew must reside somewhere.  
  
"Nnnngggtthhh…" she celebrated quite jubilantly as she discovered the sleeve of her night-dress that was now completely soaked. Success! She plunged her face into the warm, probably servant-readied rose water, then finally ventured to open her eyes.  
  
"Aaaarrrggg…" Lianne groaned in response to the hideous reflection that peered back at her in the bathroom mirror. Face paint dripped down her face, eye color was smeared wildly around her bleary eyes, and the pins that had previously held up her curls were now inextricably entangled in her horribly snarled hair. Yes, she had forgotten to un-do her lovely ensemble of the night before.  
  
Laboriously, Lianne plucked each pin from her hair—resorting sometimes to cutting them out of her hair with a small knife—and combed, well, ripped would be more accurate, through her tangles with a ruthless brush. Well, three brushes would be more accurate.  
  
As the clock struck eleven, Lianne ducked into the main bedroom again to throw the mangled brushes in the rubbish. She quickly bathed in the tub of already filled water and dried off; she was starving, and it would be a long task to find breakfast food at this hour. Dressing, Lianne heard the door open and close and a faint call of "Milady?" in the outer room.  
  
"Good morning," Lianne greeted the servant woman over-cheerfully, slyly eyeing the food in the woman's hands.  
  
The servant, obviously more than a bit alarmed at the girl's morning gaiety, bobbed a cautious curtsy and replied, "Good morning to you, milady." She presented the tray of bread and fruit to Lianne, who just barely restrained herself from lunging at the food and devouring it greedily.  
  
"Thank you!" she exclaimed and spun around to the small desk in the corner of the room, where she very gratefully gorged every last crumb.  
  
"What do you plan to do today?" inquired the servant woman, making a statement more than asking a question.  
  
Lianne emulated the woman's performance, asking, "I'm not sure. Have you any suggestions?"  
  
She smiled, aware of the tactic's acknowledgement. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Since you conveniently slept through this morning's religious services—oh, don't worry about it," dismissed the servant, waving away Lianne's sudden dismay. "Hardly anyone except the most ball-hating, most stubborn conservatives attends the morning after a large ball. The squires, if not attending to their knightmasters, will be training; you can always watch them in the practice courts." She grinned knowingly at Lianne. "Perhaps you could talk one them into giving you a grand tour. Even if not, you should still look around the University and the Hall of Portraits, they're worth it. If you are intent on wandering about the Palace itself, though, please find a servant to wander with you. Too many newcomers to the Palace have found themselves in the dungeon when they were looking for the solar conservatory. Oh yes! Can't forget the solar conservatory—or the gardens, of course…"  
  
Half an hour later, Lianne headed towards into the deep of the Palace armed with a map of its interior, another map of the University, and yet another map of the outer grounds. Refusing to wimpily (a/n: teehee, I love making up my own words) implore her squire friends for accompaniment, she toured the Hall of Portraits, the royal gardens, and the other attractions of the Palace with the simple company of her maps. Although Lianne certainly didn't enjoy herself nearly as fully as she could have, her usually dormant (but incredibly headstrong when it was present) Contè pride remained intact. She had never been—and still refused to be—a dependent, fragile noble flower. At last, Lianne assented to journeying down to the squires' and pages' practice courts.  
  
Leaning against the fence, Lianne joined a familiar figure—the ever-lovely Lady Elise, who disdainfully ignored her new companion. From the young woman's snobbish and lofty demeanor, it was almost impossible to tell that she and Lianne were the same age, or that they were anywhere near in station.  
  
On the courts, two young men—squires, Lianne presumed, looking to colors they wore—prepared to duel.  
  
"You offend the honor of my Lady by daring to call her your own!" fiercely shouted the squire in royal colors. //Oh, no,// Lianne though to herself. //Please don't let it be who I think it is.//  
  
The other squire had returned with his own insult, to which Liam roared and waved his sword wildly; immediately, metal clashed and the boys (//because that's what they are,// Lianne affirmed, disgusted) commenced battle. Next to Lianne, Lady Elise watched, smirking slyly.  
  
Unable to stomach any more of Lady Elise's cunning or her brother's idiocy, Lianne turned on her heel and walked firmly away from the intrigue. Hypothesizing that she might encounter other friends at the destination, she eventually arrived at the archery grounds.  
  
A brunet squire drew back his bow with intense sobriety, let loose, and looked on appraisingly as the arrow hit dead center of the target. A hand shading his brow, the unmistakable archer Willas of Disart faced the squire next to him in challenge. As the black-haired young man prepared to shoot, Willas caught a glimpse of Lianne and bellowed, "Oy! Lianne!"  
  
His companion's arrow jerked out of the bow and, after narrowly missing the head of the boy next to him, sped over the tall netting that backed the archery targets.  
  
Julian waved, unabashed at his antics, and strolled over to Lianne alongside Willas.  
  
"That's why you always win at archery," Julian was muttering to his friend. "In fact, I can't remember a time where you weren't trying to distract me or anyone else you shoot with…"  
  
"Care to take a hand at the bow?" Willas enticingly offered the instrument of his art to Lianne.  
  
"Oh, no thank you," Lianne quickly declined. "You're too promising a squire to die today with my arrow through your head."  
  
"Good choice," Julian praised. "I don't think I could stand another moment in the archery range. Perhaps you would like to tour the Hall of Portraits?"  
  
"I've already been," she replied, immediately grateful that she had not earlier asked them for accompaniment.  
  
"Ah." A look of surprise and bewilderment crossed both their faces; obviously, her response was not what they had expected.  
  
"Neither the Royal Gardens nor the Menagerie, I suppose?" asked Willas.  
  
"No, I've been there this morning also." Pleased at their reaction, Lianne added, "Thank you for the offer, though."  
  
Smiling in strange wondering speculation, Julian proposed, "The University—you can't have toured the entire University this morning along with the entire Palace."  
  
"I haven't seen the University yet," she admitted. "I was planning to go after midday meal."  
  
"Alone?" Willas was completely incredulous at her nonconformist conduct.  
  
Lianne shrugged, commenting, "I'm not so helpless that I always need to seek out an escort."  
  
"Does that mean you wouldn't care for company?" Julian inquired off- handedly.  
  
She smiled; she had maintained her independence and self-respect but had gained friends to enjoy the afternoon with. "Yes, I believe I would appreciate company."  
  
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"So, have you been thinking about participating in the Great Games (okay, lame name, I'm feeling noncreative) this year? For music, I mean?" Julian queried, holding the hallway door open.  
  
Lianne wasn't sure whether to gasp or laugh hysterically at the mere thought. Finally, after staring dubiously at her friend for a long while, she demanded, "Are you crazy? I don't have the kind of talent to compete in the Games." Shaking her head, Lianne hugged the sitar that she carried closer to her chest and walked out of the University they had just finished exploring. When they had visited the University's musical library—which provided and lent out not only books on musical theory but instruments and specialized music—Lianne couldn't resist borrowing the exotic instrument and a stack of sitar compositions.  
  
Four years ago, the nations of the Scanran Compact—the peace treaty which had ended the war between Tortall and its allies and Scanra and its allies—agreed to honor their reconciliation every four-year anniversary through the Great Games. The Games involved competition in every venue, from magery to arts to physical ability; however, violent altercations frequently broke out between long-rivaling nations. Despite problems, its purpose, to unite the kingdoms of the west, had been well-achieved in its inaugural year, and the next Games were well on schedule. Lianne's first year at the haMinch manor, the year of the Games' beginning, the Lady haMinch and Lianne had journeyed to Corus for one week to view the musical events. During that time, Lianne had seen the most amazing, most talented artists in the world display their best work, and she had looked forward excitedly to the Games' second appearance.  
  
"Don't be so sure," Julian warned. "I heard with my own ears the way you played that instrument you're holding; you'd never even laid eyes on it before today."  
  
"Thank you for the honor, though I know it is utterly misplaced." Lianne fiddled with the sitar strings uncomfortably. "How about we just drop the subject? I simply couldn't ever compete."  
  
"Fine," Julian muttered, "but you know that anyone can enter the runnings. You don't have anything to lose."  
  
Lianne glared at him; she hated incorrect compliments, and she hated competitions. In any type of opposition, if she won, she felt guilty for winning and sorry for the loser, while if she lost, she felt miserable and was filled with intolerable self-pity. Either situation, she ended up hurt.  
  
"Well, I'm off to serve Milord Irenroha," remarked Willas, waving farewell once they reached the small courtyard outside the kitchens. "He's eating tonight in his rooms, some kind of fever, and he likes his supper prompt." Lianne and Julian bid him goodbye and wished him luck with his knightmaster's infamous irritability.  
  
"Are you going to sup in the Great Dining Hall?" Julian asked Lianne as they headed into the palace.  
  
"No, I'm actually not too hungry. I had a large lunch, and I just can't wait to experiment with this sitar." She stroked the instrument's inlaid wood lovingly. "I thought I'd skip dinner and try out the music I picked up."  
  
"Well, I am starved. If you want, I'll show you the Palace's music library," Julian proposed. "It doesn't have as many resources as the University's music library, but it'll provide any extra texts you need."  
  
"Thank you," Lianne said gratefully, still possessively clutching her sitar. "I'm sure it will be a nice, private place to play."  
  
Julian led her into a large room with lofty ceilings and large walls that were lined with antique instruments in glass cases and portraits of famous musicians.  
  
"Have fun," he instructed her as she sat at in a comfortable red armchair. "I'm happily off to—"  
  
"Bbbllluuuuuuuuurrrggghhhh…." interrupted a load moan. Julian and Lianne turned to see what had made the hideous noise, and at once they recognized the slumped-over figure that stank of wine.  
  
"Oh, no," Lianne groaned. "Please tell me this isn't happening…"  
  
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Alrighty then…Told ya it was super-long (at least for me)! Please review if you think it deserving. Thanks for reading! 


	6. Music

I'm so sorry it took me this long to write the next chapter!!! My teachers love to load up on homework and projects right before spring break, which, luckily, is this week. Hopefully I can get a few chapters done on break, since I'm not going anywhere. ^_^ Thanks for putting up with me. Enh, if you want a disclaimer, you little copyright agent minions, go back to any of chapters 1-5.  
  
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"Oh, no," Lianne groaned. "Please tell me this isn't happening…" (I just inserted the last bit of dialogue again since you couldn't really tell what Julian was replying to.)  
  
At the base of Lianne's sofa-chair slouched an unmistakably drunken Liam; drool dribbled down his slack jaw, and he protectively clutched an empty wine jug. Obviously, this jug had not been his first of the afternoon. He gazed witlessly up at his sister and friend until he finally recognized the two faces, upon the occasion of which he grinned, eyes rolling back into his head, and pleasantly threw up on his tunic shirt.  
  
"Yes," Julian replied in a quite revolted tone, "I'm sorry to say that it is happening."  
  
After staring at Liam in disgust for sufficient time, Lianne inquired, "What do you say we do about him? I'm almost tempted to leave him here," she added bitterly and uncharacteristically. From his ridiculous dueling in the early afternoon to his present idiotic and infuriatingly masculine state of stupor, Lianne empathized very little with her brother at the moment. However, he was just that—her brother.  
  
"No," she disagreed with herself at last, "I suppose it would be too cruel to desert him."  
  
"Hmm, I really did like that idea." Julian sighed. "Oh, well. Let's get him up to his room, then."  
  
"Wait—wouldn't Roald hear us come in?" Lianne suddenly considered, remembering that as the brothers were knightmaster and squire, their rooms were connected.  
  
"No, Roald will be at supper," Julian said, stressing the last word as he glared resentfully at Liam. "But you have a point; their floor is eternally swarming with servants and visitors. Not that it wouldn't do Liam any good to suffer the little pride deflation of gossiping servants," he continued, prodding the semi-conscious, slobbering huddle that was his friend.  
  
"Come on," Lianne said. "We'll take Liam to my rooms."  
  
Trying to ignore the awful stench that arose from his breath and his vomit, Lianne hauled her brother up by the underarms and nearly toppled under his limp weight. The sitar slung over his shoulder by its small strap, Julian helped her lift up Liam, easily supporting most of his mass. They towed the prince, carefully avoiding any sound of servants, up two flights of stairs and through three hallways to Lianne's luckily nearby chambers.  
  
When Liam successfully rested on her bed, dirty tunic removed, Lianne fetched cool water and a damp cloth for his forehead. As she washed his face with the water, she noticed Julian still scowling fiercely at him.  
  
"I know why I'm angry with Liam," she remarked, "but I don't know why you are. I'm sure you wouldn't be this upset only about missing a meal."  
  
"Don't be that sure about the meal," Julian responded. "I happen to enjoy my food. But you're right." He ran a hand through his dark hair. "Liam—likes to drink, which is all right in moderation. The trouble is, wine, ale, anything alcoholic, makes him…someone he's not. Makes him loud and obnoxious—at least worse than usual. More than irritating though, he can get violent. He has a tendency to drink too much, and the wine sends him into his own dark world. Right now, he's drunk completely senseless, a good thing considering the alternative, but I still can't see why he would take the chance of hurting anyone, including himself."  
  
"You're a wonderful friend," Lianne told him quietly, a bit in awe of his loyalty and caring for her brother. "Go get yourself some supper."  
  
Julian nodded distractedly and left without a word, ten seconds later reappearing in the door to ask, "Do you want anything? Or something for Liam?"  
  
She smiled. "No thank you. Though Lady haMinch taught me an excellent hangover concoction, I think Liam should take at least a little bit of responsibility for his actions."  
  
"Right-o, milady," he replied with a grin and departed again, this time with a noticeably more buoyant manner.  
  
Once he had was gone, Lianne collapsed onto a chair in total mental and physical exhaustion, only to jump back up at twang of instrument strings.  
  
After checking that the sitar to verify it had sustained no damage, Lianne hesitantly plucked at few strings and immediately delighted in the resulting exotic euphony. She eagerly sought the sheets of music she had brought from the University, then regretfully remembered leaving them in the music library downstairs.  
  
"Oh well," she sighed. Liam mumbled something in protest at the noise, and, forgetting her earlier irritation with him, Lianne moved to his side to smooth the hair off his moist forehead. "We'll just have to make up our own music, won't we?"  
  
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About an hour later, Julian returned the princess's chambers. When he neared the door, he could detect the distinctive sound of a rapid sitar melody wafting from inside. Julian hesitated at the door; for some inexplicable reason, the music lightened his heart, and he didn't want to interrupt. At last, he knocked lightly and identified himself.  
  
"Come in," Lianne called back, not ending her playing or decelerating the fast tempo. She smiled up at him from a nest of blankets on the floor, fingers deftly flitting through the instruments strings as if it had been born into her hands. On her bed, instead of tossing and turning distressedly as he had been when Julian left, Liam slept deeply and soundly and snored heavily.  
  
"I thought you said you were going to let him suffer," Julian commented, noting his friend's clammy, pallid hue had disappeared. "May I ask what you did do, though? Because it certainly has helped."  
  
"What?" Lianne's fingers slowed to a stop, and she responded, half laughing, "I haven't done anything for Liam."  
  
"He has no trace of ever being drunk tonight," Julian insisted.  
  
"The entire evening, all I've done is wash his face and play music," Lianne declared, equally insistent. She quietly, almost unconsciously, began plucking out an absentminded melody on the sitar. "Perhaps my songs actually are to some degree actually decent," she suggested jokingly. "Would it be so unbelievable that he happened to like them?"  
  
"Not in any way unbelievable," Julian replied. "You're a very gifted musician. What is so unbelievable is that Liam has miraculously and single- handedly recovered from a seemingly unalterable drunken stupor in less than an hour with no help from either of us."  
  
"You should've been a scholar," Lianne said, shaking her head and placing the sitar on the floor. "As it is, I'm dead tired, and I have no problems with accepting Liam's state of health as a fluke of the natural world and going to bed this instant."  
  
"And you say I should've been the scholar?"  
  
"You're making such a big deal about this!" Lianne exclaimed. Now that she had ceased playing music, there was nothing to distract her from her extreme fatigue, and her nerves were quickly wearing thin. "Urgh, I'm sorry, Julian, you've been very kind to me today. Thank you for everything. I'm just so tired."  
  
"You're perfectly welcome," he assured her. "Thank you for letting me accompany you. I think you are quite right, however, so I will take this sleeping dolt back to his rooms. Goodnight, Lianne."  
  
"Goodnight, Julian."  
  
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"Lady Lianne?" Lianne's maidservant, Rhiona, appeared on the sun-warmed balcony where her mistress was taking breakfast. "Lord Julian of Cherell is here to see you. Shall I let him in?"  
  
"Yes, please," Lianne replied. "Thank you." She sipped the last of her strong orange tea and stood to meet her friend, whose face was strangely exuberant. "What in the world is it?"  
  
"Come in here," Julian said, motioning her out of the sun and into her main room. "I have this theory."  
  
"You aren't ordering me around until I know exactly what you're doing," Lianne persisted.  
  
"All right," he conceded, amused at her Contè stubbornness. "I have a theory that your magic—you do have the Gift, correct?" At Lianne's affirmation, he continued, "That your magic works through your music. I brought Willas's scrying crystal to test this, since it'll let me see your Gift."  
  
"So, are you suggesting that by playing the sitar last night, my Gift was unconsciously released and healed Liam?" she confirmed. Julian nodded, and she consented to the experiment with interest.  
  
Sitting in her new favorite armchair, Lianne fought frustration at her inability to formulate a new melody; finally, she relaxed her mind, and her fingers automatically started easily flowing through the strings.  
  
"Is your Gift brownish-greenish-goldish?" Julian inquired in a whisper.  
  
"You make it sound so glamorous," she teased, opening her eyes and smiling gently. "Do you see anything?"  
  
"Yes, yes I do," Julian said. An irrepressible responding smile rose on his face, which inspired another notion. "By any chance might you have persuasion as your Gift?"  
  
"Yes…"  
  
"I think that when you play music, your persuasion Gift kind of…leaks out and convinces the listener to emulate your emotions. Your caring for Liam traveled through your music and eased his condition. Just now, your peace and relaxation traveled through your music to me."  
  
Lianne stared, impressed, at Julian, who most definitely should have been a scholar, and an idea began to form. "Do you think that maybe—maybe I would have a chance if I participated in the Games this year?"  
  
Julian grinned. "I told you that even before we found this out about your Gift. Of course I think so. In fact, you could do so in both the musical division and the magical division."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Really."  
  
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Long, long, long section this time! Also, be prepared for a MAJOR time lapse between this chapter and the next, so I can skip a whole load of dry details. By the way, I want to thank all the reviewers who have taken time to comment, I really appreciate it! Also, I'd like to give a special thank- you to Jossie; she's read and reviewed practically every chapter, and she's so sweet. Thanks, Jossie! ^_^ Peace, y'all. 


	7. Games

Hiya! I'm finally back with a new chapter! ^_^ This one is packed with detail and pretty much completely predictable content. At least I had fun writing it…I think it says in the text, but it's been about 5 months since the last chapter. I own nothing except the personalities and the Games.  
  
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"That man who won the first place, you know?" Liam inquired as he and Lianne hurried down to the magery wing of the University. Not intending to wait for a reply, he went on, "He wasn't all that much better than you. If your Gift wasn't suppressed, you would've been right up there with him."  
  
"What?" Lianne asked incredulously. "You're completely crazy! First off, I don't have anywhere near that much talent; second, remember, I played a wrong chord, which is one of the most unaffordable mistakes to make; and third—well, you're just crazy."  
  
"Like I said, you wouldn't have hit a wrong note if your magic wouldn't have been suppressed," her brother insisted.  
  
She scowled at the ever-persistent Liam, who just shrugged in innocence. "Perhaps," she conceded to humor him.  
  
When Lianne had enlisted in the ranks of hundreds of Musical Games participants, almost five months after her occupation of the Palace, the official rules forbid the use of a Gift to aid any performance; this forced her to somehow repress the magic that leaked out in all her playing. During one of her rare private encounters with her younger brother, Jasson had offered, in an equally infrequent mood of benevolent familial connection, to curb her musical magic. However, due to lack of the intimacy between performance and Gift that she had become so accustomed to, Lianne had encountered much trouble playing with her usual spirit. Anxiety at exhibition of her abilities to judges had further added to the musical handicap, and in the middle of only the second semi-final round, she struck a completely off note, thus crushing any hopes of musical achievement in the Games. As soon as possible, she had Jasson remove the pesky restraints. Now, though, she was performing quite well in the Magical Games, the sixth and last semi-final round to which she and her brother were heading speedily.  
  
"Didn't Julian say he was going to come?" Lianne questioned Liam, entering the large hall where creative magery semi-finals were held.  
  
"Nope, he had some little task to perform for Lord Henar," Liam responded. "Probably something to do with that, er, /damaged/ wrist from the jousting Games," he added, grinning. Although Liam himself had inflicted the rather serious injury, he had never shown any regret or sympathy.  
  
Ignoring the twinge of disappointment at Julian's absence, Lianne shook her head at her cocky brother but smiled nonetheless. After he had won an amazing third place in jousting and, to his further pride, fought an extremely close match with the two-time Games' first place winner and renown Tortallan jousting champion Sir Keladry, Liam strutted around the Palace like a laughably pompous peacock. It did nothing to help his ego when, as they entered the hall, a dozen Court beauties swarmed over to surround him. Over their cooing and crooning, he managed to shout to Lianne, "Good luck, sis!"  
  
Avoiding the sickeningly saccharine girls, Lianne quickly found her labeled seat at the opposite side of the hall from the spectator seating. She scrutinized the instruments of her performance for any defects, and, after she was content that they were in prime condition, she skimmed over the individual musical scores in order. Instead of designing for maximum listening pleasure, Lianne had written the melodies to best correspond with the magical effect and had chosen the instruments for each display in the same manner.  
  
Lianne tried to smother her nervous shaking and ignore the queasy apprehension in her stomach, taking her mind off the anxiousness by watching the last few stragglers enter before performances began. For the third round in a row, a grandly-clad group that she suspected to be foreign nobility arrived rather late and took their usual unnoticed seats near the back of the hall. Because semi-finals hardly ever attracted royalty, Lianne had been earlier intrigued with these certain attendants.  
  
"Sixth round semi-finals will commence," boomed the, by now familiar, magically-enhanced announcing voice of Lianne's division's manager. After a polite smattering of applause, the division director beckoned the contestant in the first seat, a black, hulking Banjiku man, to the main floor. While many had pressed for an exclusively wild magic category, the participants so magically inclined still competed in the creative magery category.  
  
Lianne sat exactly in the middle of the group, between a Bazhir who turned out to be a very talented weather mage and a blonde girl Lianne recognized from earlier semi-final rounds. Though consistently mediocre in efficiency, the girl's unique style of magery—classical dance—had been the factor to bring her this far; however, Lianne doubted if either the girl or even herself would make it any farther, and with every next competitor displaying increasing talent, she became steadily less convinced.  
  
In the almost exact words Lianne had been thinking, the girl whispered to her, "Is it just my jealous view, or are these people getting more and more talented with each turn?"  
  
"I believe I've noticed the same," Lianne replied. "Makes me a bit more unsure of my abilities."  
  
The girl shrugged, smiling in something reminiscent of pity, and once again Lianne regretted saying anything besides a uniform response.  
  
"Lianne of Contè, Tortall," called the division director. All at once, Lianne erupted into nervous shaking and, collecting her instruments, unsteadily approached the judging area. As she tried to organize the instruments on the table allowed to her, the steel drums clattered to the floor, smashing the tense and utter silence of the hall and producing a round of titters in the audience. Lianne blinked back tears of embarrassment, gathering the drums into her arms protectively and checking them for injuries.  
  
Before she could be completely unnerved by the incident, and also because she was inspired by it, Lianne quickly plopped down on the floor, set the steel drums in front of her, and began the display of frustration. The emotion came easily to her, and she felt it flowing through the steel drum score; the room fell into attentive silence, but Lianne could also sense a slight level of mirror emotion building in them.  
  
With little pause after completion, Lianne grabbed her mbira, an odd but effective instrument made of small, steel thumb keys bound to a wooden box. Immediately she plunged into the nostalgia display, which, in peculiarity equal to its channel, compelled the listener to look back on his or her past and raised those related emotions to the surface.  
  
Next, the sitar provided an excellent passageway for confusion, then guitar (a/n: some renaissance guitar, you know? …oh come on, use your imagination) for regret, and the 'ud, a large, pear-shaped lute, for exhaustion. To offset those rather negative feelings, Lianne used a small wooden xylophone for a carefree playfulness, followed by the exotic zither, a metal-stringed lute that produced an appropriately appealing metal sound quality for fascination, and finally, for calm and peace, a large harp that, as her favorite instrument, had seemed fitting as the finale. In that final performance, Lianne's fingers danced over the strings, and she sensed her Gift smoothly pouring out of her inner store and occupying the hall with complete serenity. Resonating in her spirit, the final note contained every last ounce of emotion she possessed…  
  
Lianne opened her eyes at last, realizing she had kept them closed during the entire exhibition. After a few seconds of silence, a deafening round of applause rose from the considerably full hall while the judges snapped up from the peaceful enchantment of the last score and instantly wrote down Lianne's scores.  
  
Collecting the papers from the judges, the division director read them aloud—Lianne had received almost all perfect scores. From the shock and from the added fatigue of her use of magic, she fainted on the spot.  
  
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Predictable, like I said. Hopefully somewhat original. If you believe this fic worthy, reviews are always appreciated…oh, yes! Time for another big ol' thank you, this time to wonderful Sarcasm Queen, who always has such super lovely reviews!!! (And great fics, too!)Thank you, thank you, thank you, to Sarcasm Queen and Jossie and all those great people who take time to review! I love ya!!! 


	8. Acquaintances

Hey hey hey! Well, judging by the review turnout, that last chapter must've really stunk. Sorry about that. ^_^ It seems, though, that I write better (or more quickly, at least) with reviews, so I appreciate them all the more.  
  
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At the smell of something completely horrible and completely too near to her nose, Lianne sputtered awake. "Ugh, that's awful," she grumbled, straightening from her resting position, which, she saw, had been against the shoulder of her brother.  
  
"Thus the purpose of the smelling salt," declared Liam in a whisper. "Is your head all right?"  
  
Venturing a hand to the tender back of her head, Lianne vaguely remembered clonking it against the marble floor when she had fallen. She thought to herself resentfully, /I certainly don't understand why fainting has always been presented as so charming./  
  
"I'm okay." She glanced up and noticed that the blonde girl she had spoken with earlier was performing; obviously Lianne had not been unconscious for very long.  
  
Occasionally leaning against her brother again, merely for comfort, Lianne watched the girl dance the magical circle limits and the incantation, her legs toned and muscled. Never releasing her feet's tense point, the girl leapt and twirled her magic to accomplish the final goal, levitating a wooden chair. The chair barely rose above the floor, but the girl's display enchanted Lianne, the audience, and, from the marks she received, the judges too.  
  
By the time the final contestant had begun, Lianne's scores still held the top, guaranteeing her first or second place and a trip to the qualifying round. In the end, Lianne held first and the blonde just barely secured second.  
  
After the division manager had officially ended the last semi-final, Lianne insisted on seeking out the blonde—whom the manager had titled "Duchess Cerlinne of Clandiff, from Tusaine"—to congratulate her.  
  
Waiting until the throng of well-wishers, mostly male, she noted, around the Tusainian had dissipated, Lianne approached her with a smile.  
  
"Wonderful job." Lianne just caught herself as she began to offer a hand to shake; berating herself for spending too much time with back-slapping, hand- shaking squires, she curtsied slightly and nodded.  
  
"I was just damned lucky," the young duchess replied, her demure flush not at all matching her coarse words. While Lianne herself was a bit of a prude, refusing to curse, she had long ago found that beyond their refined surfaces, nobility's vocabulary hardly ever exceeded the soldiers'.  
  
"Yes, well…" Lianne wasn't sure how to answer. "Excellent performance anyway."  
  
"Cerlinne, my cousin, you must learn to control your words," jokingly admonished a young man with the same blonde hair but with a quite large crown on top of it. He had been standing there for a few minutes, but both young women only then realized his presence. "I think you've offended our princess here."  
  
Cerlinne sniffed indifferently. "Sorry, dear."  
  
"You, Princess Lianne, did quite remarkably yourself," the charming Tusaine royal commented. "I trust you are feeling better, now?"  
  
"Yes," Lianne responded, smiling shyly. "It was just a bit of a shock."  
  
"Well, such a lovely mage and musician shouldn't be so shocked," he remarked, grinning with the utmost captivation. "Not only should you be accustomed to wide acclamation for both your talent and your beauty, but you also should always make sure of a dashing gentleman nearby in case of an incident like this. It was fortunate indeed that I happened to have smelling salts on hand."  
  
Cerlinne rolled her clear green eyes and sighed heavily. "Just because women swoon over you all the time," she muttered.  
  
Lianne should've been suspicious at his mere mention of flattery related to her looks—she had no illusions about her appearance—but his silken words were so enchanting that she chose to ignore any initial misgivings. She managed to stammer, completely enamored, "It—it was…your sme—smelling salt? Thank—you."  
  
"It's nothing," he negated. "But, I must know if you will be attending the grand supper tonight."  
  
"Supper?" Lianne stared at his handsome, flawless face. "I…didn't know there was a grand meal at all. Ah…I'm…not sure."  
  
"Now that you know, I'm counting on you to come." He bowed deeply to her, spreading his arms open as he did so. "My name, Princess, is Branten of Gerrend. I am most pleased to have made your acquaintance."  
  
"Yes, I'm sure my sister is /most/ pleased as well," came Liam's annoyed voice behind her, along with his tense grip on her shoulder.  
  
Not sure if she was irritated at or grateful for his overprotectiveness, Lianne patted his hand and proceeded to peel it off her shoulder. "I suppose I'll see you at supper," she offered to Branten. Tilting his head quizzically, the Tusaine noble smiled and nodded slightly, hooked Cerlinne's arm, and led the blonde through another crowd of audience members.  
  
Liam exhaled in something reminiscent of a wild, irate snort, firmly locking hands with his sister. "Hn," he snorted again. "Prig."  
  
"Liam, calm down," Lianne soothed. "What is it? Why do you hate this Branten fellow?"  
  
"He's a prig."  
  
"Yes, you said that."  
  
"He's a complete fake."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"He hasn't said a word of truth yet. Prig."  
  
Lianne sighed, watching her brother's eyes glitter with a totally unwarranted malice towards the royal Branten; she appreciated Liam's concern, but he was carrying a small suspicion far out of proportion. "He's full of pretty words, I know. Lady haMinch warned to be careful around pretty words, and I can just take this on my own."  
  
"Prig."  
  
"For goodness's Liam, stop it! You say he lies; do you mean that he lies about my having a shred of charm or beauty?" She yanked her hand out of his tight hold, flustered and upset. "Just stop it."  
  
Most of the onlookers having exited long since, the great hall was nearly deserted, and their hissed words just barely echoed over the cleared floor.  
  
Thankfully breaking a long silence, Liam gruffly hugged her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Lianne," he said quietly. "I'm sorry. But…you /will/ be careful, promise me."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Duchess Cerlinne of Clandiff, oddly unescorted, strolled leisurely through the palace. On the walls, candle-lit lamps glowed a warm yellow in the late- night darkness of the halls, and her dainty feet padded like soft rain down the rugs considerately placed in the ladies' guest wing.  
  
As she trod up the stairs to her floor, her skilled ears, practiced from long years of hearkening for gossip, caught the sound of a fellow personage on the stairs. A few moments later she recognized the awkward little Tortallan princess—Lianne, she recalled.  
  
"Good evening," Lianne called, beaming.  
  
"Good evening, princess," the young duchess replied dryly. /She's such a pure, sheltered, gentle little child,/ thought Cerlinne, cynical.  
  
"Did the meal sit well with you?" Lianne inquired as she fell in step with the older girl.  
  
"Well indeed," Cerlinne affirmed, nodding. "If nothing else, Tortallan cuisine is complimentary."  
  
Catching the connotation of her companion's last comment, Lianne's small features furrowed in a small frown; however, her puzzlement quickly gave way to the excellent evening's buoyancy. "I'm very glad. /I/ had a lovely time tonight, and I would wish the world the same."  
  
/I'm sure you did,/ Cerlinne acknowledged mentally. /My dearest cousin wouldn't dare let it be any different./ Abruptly, she answered, "Wonderful. I'm so happy for you."  
  
Again, Lianne chose to ignore the blonde's quite confusing tones and smiled widely instead. "Wonderful…" she repeated.  
  
The girl's utterly innocent demeanor sharply pained Cerlinne somewhere, in some way she hadn't felt for awhile. /Poor, sweet girl…/  
  
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Thanks for reading! Have a most excellent day! 


	9. Proposition

All right, I know it's been awhile, and it'll probably be longer from this chapter to the next. I'm super-loaded with homework, projects, and—do I dare say the word?—finals. *shudders* So here it is. A nice long one to tide you over. ^_^  
  
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Lianne hugged the pillow tightly close to her chest, wearing the same bright smile that she had worn since two whole nights ago. All credits were due to Branten—the crown prince of Tusaine, she had discovered—who was still incessantly charming and chivalrous. In his company she had attended the uniquely multi-cultural festivities only found at the Games, such as Yamani firedancers, Carthaki acrobats, and Scanran drama—yes, such a thing did exist, and for all the improbability of the idea, it was genuinely admirable, if slightly and unintentionally humorous.  
  
More than the exotic displays, though, for she could've enjoyed them with any accompaniment, Lianne delighted in spending time with gentlemanly Branten. Always on the tip of his tongue was a compliment or amusing offhand comment, at which times she was reminded of Julian. But Branten seemed more flattering, more outrageously cavalier, and, well, just…more. Besides, Julian was her best friend, not her romantic interest; after spending five months with Julian and getting along with him better than anyone else she had before, Lianne had long since concluded that she would never risk their friendship for any type of romantic relationship.  
  
Glancing up at the clock, Lianne realized that it was past time to be bound for the first semi-final round of the Games. She quickly tucked her messy hair into a hair net and planted an unobtrusive crown on top of it, slipping on a skirt that wasn't as wrinkled as the one she wore. As she dashed out of her room, Lianne nearly plowed over a surprised Julian.  
  
"Sorry, Julian!" she exclaimed, offering a hand to help him up. "What were you doing down here, anyway? I thought you promised to come to the semi- final."  
  
"Quite all right," he assured her, grinning at the utterly ordinary mishap. "Yes, I was just heading up here to see if you were coming. Liam and I waited a good hour for you this morning, so I wasn't sure if you had fallen deathly ill or something of the like."  
  
"Oh, no…" Lianne breathed. "I'm so sorry! I can't believe I forgot to meet you. Branten just showed up and I…" she trailed off.  
  
"I'm not upset as long as you aren't deathly ill," Julian replied, "which I presume you're not. Branten, did you say?"  
  
"Er, yes," she murmured, totally mortified. "He invited me to go to the Tusainian players' performance with him, and I, erm, just kind of completely forgot that I had plans with you and Liam."  
  
"Well," Julian said briskly before an uncomfortable silence could ensue, "let's be off, then? You mustn't be late for your performance."  
  
The competition was held in the large hall where Lianne's last qualifying round was held, giving her comfort with her surroundings and a sort of home ground advantage. Compared to the multitude now sitting in the stands on the sides of the hall, the considerable turnout of that earlier round seemed incredibly sparse. Lianne shuddered in dread at the thought of performing in front of all of them, then felt a squeeze of her hand.  
  
"Good luck, Lianne," Julian whispered. "You'll do wonderfully, I'm sure."  
  
"Thank you much," she whispered back. "At least I know you won't laugh when I confound the routine."  
  
"Then Branten would laugh?" Julian inquired dryly.  
  
Lianne turned sharply to ask what he meant, but he had gone to meet Liam in the stands without another word. Guessing that the empty seat in the row of contestant was hers, she sighed as she hurried over to take her place.  
  
For some unknown reason, no one performed exceedingly in that round, leaving a clear passageway for Lianne. However, since she had never been one to contradict the general standard of the masses, Lianne's performance lacked any spectacular passion. As soon as she had finished, Lianne realized that it would be a miracle for her to make it to the next round; in the day's typical oddity, though, she squeaked by with scores that even she acknowledged were unfounded.  
  
"So I suppose it's my turn to congratulate you?" The blonde Cerlinne appeared at Lianne's side once the semi-finals had officially closed. "Then congratulations. You certainly deserve it; Gods know my performance was atrocious. Still, I think those judges were a load of…oh, never mind. You don't care for curses, do you?"  
  
"Er, thank you," Lianne replied. In a brilliant flash of wit, she added, "You weren't that awful."  
  
"Only a bit awful?" Cerlinne shook her head. "Ah, but I admitted my own fault, so you are warranted with that comment."  
  
Never sure how to respond to the erratic duchess, Lianne tried a smile, and to her relief Branten approached moments later.  
  
"Cerlinne, some handsome young swain is asking for you back there," he informed her and motioned to the crowd near the stands. "Some dozen, really," he confided in Lianne, following the blonde's departure with masked blue eyes. "She's a natural-born charmer, men just can't help themselves." Branten smiled, radiant, at Lianne. "Much like yourself, Princess."  
  
"Oh no, I'm sure not," Lianne denied, feeling her cheeks warm as they were apt to do in the Tusainian's presence.  
  
"Then how do you explain this?" Branten asked. He bowed to her and offered his hand in assistance for her to stand. Tucking her hand, tiny in comparison to his muscled brawn, under his arm protectively, he led her to the exit.  
  
"Lianne, would you care to accompany me to the Shang display tonight?" Branten murmured. "I'd like to speak to you about something."  
  
"Er, yes…" Lianne replied curiously. "What is it?"  
  
"Later, dear."  
  
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Later. Two weeks, one round of the Games, and four Liam-tantrums later, Lianne still had no idea what Branten "would like to speak to her about." Each day of anticipation, her tension level had risen up to the present state of discomfort. She was inexpressibly grateful for tonight's dinner date with the prince, an excuse for both excellent company and a chance of revealing the mysterious conversation topic.  
  
In those two weeks, she had grown closer and closer to him, noticeable through his casual use of "darling" and "dear" and their constant companionship.  
  
Yet somehow, she still felt as if she hardly knew him, which was mostly true. Beyond his gallant cover—there had to be more to him than chivalry, he couldn't possibly always be the heroic charmer—Lianne had not caught a glimpse Branten's true character.  
  
It was so easy to ignore these miniscule doubts, though! She was completely happy around him, and wasn't that all that mattered?  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
As she stared across the table into his beautiful blue eyes, every single of those doubts immediately fled from Lianne's consciousness.  
  
Insisting on bringing her to the finest dining house in the city and declaring that they had entirely extinguished the palace's supply of finery in the last two weeks, Branten had secured truly the most elegant and beautiful that Lianne had ever attended.  
  
"Will you now tell me whatever it was you wanted to tell me?" she said.  
  
"Lianne…" Branten sighed. "I know that I haven't known you for very long, but…the time I've spent with you has been extraordinary. You are extraordinary." He sighed again. "This must be so incredibly sudden for you, but I just couldn't wait to ask you. I knew from the moment I met you, and I've tried to delay for your sake…"  
  
In the corner of her mind, Lianne knew exactly what was coming.  
  
"Dear Lianne…" Branten slid onto one knee on the floor and presented a huge ring. "Please, tell me you'll be my wife."  
  
Despite any anticipation of the event, Lianne sat, stunned, staring blankly at him. Eventually she managed a squeak, which she turned into a stuttering reply: "Er, I…um…er…"  
  
"I need you, Lianne," Branten urged, pleading.  
  
"Yes, well," she mumbled, at last in control of her mouth and brain. "I see." Obviously not the response he was looking for. But did she want to marry him? Did she love him? "Why?" she asked in a businesslike manner.  
  
"I would think it obvious." He searched her face with his azure eyes and cupped Lianne's pale cheek in his large hand. Pulling her down, he kissed her tenderly, his touch exploring and gentle.  
  
Her first kiss. Ever. And it was the most lovely thing in her whole life. "I, erm…" she whispered after he had pulled away. Suddenly realizing the utter love and devotion that he stirred within her, she breathed, "Yes…"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Striding lazily down the dim halls, Branten of Gerrend unbuttoned the cuffs of his expensively embroidered silk shirt. When he reached his large suite, he found the door unlocked. Entering, the handsome noble immediately recognized the cloying fragrance that hung in his rooms.  
  
"Branten, where have you been?" demanded the comely blonde who looked up from his bed.  
  
"Calm down, 'Linne," he soothed with a mocking grin, undressing. "The girl was a bit stubborn." He added scornfully, "She took a while to get over the shock of a male taking any interest in her." Pleased with himself, he smirked complacently. "But of course she agreed in the end."  
  
Cerlinne groaned and drew him into bed. "I still think this whole matter is a bad idea. Isn't there another way?"  
  
"Please, darling, leave planning to a man," Branten murmured, caressing her hair. "Don't worry your pretty head."  
  
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Okay, the whole proposal thing was a bit sudden, but you really didn't want to read a whole bunch of filler just to get to know Branten better, did you? Well, I didn't feel like writing filler. Anyway, you should know his character much better by the last little section. ^_^ I love all y'all who review! Love ya lots! 


	10. Impediments

Yes, after an absurdly long break, I've managed to produce another chapter. If you can call it that; it's quite short, which is due to my excessive guilt.I thought, ya know, there won't be another chapter until Christmas break, prob'ly.and I needed to decide if I was physically/mentally capable of writing more on the story. I kinda lost a little interest.I'm still not sure whether to continue beyond the chapters that I've promised my dear Sarcasm Queen-er, A Rose by Any Other Name (what a mouthful!). Please let me know if there is an audience for the story. Please. ^_^  
  
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"I don't like it!" Thayet declared angrily, breaking her dinner roll with a vengeance. "Not once has Tusaine kept their word to Tortall, not once. What reason should they have to start now?" "Now, now," Jonathan responded mildly as he pulled the helpless roll out of his wife's ruthless hands. "As of late, Tusaine has been quite dependable. Ever since the Battle for the Drell Valley, they've held to our treaties honorably." "And I suppose you simply choose to overlook the Riders' increasing reports of Tusainian infiltration in that area?" Thayet snapped. "A matter of the Tusainian Rogue, or a misjudgment of my officers?" Again Jonathan attempted to soothe his queen, but he knew better than to remind her that she'd long ago given up command of the Riders. Sighing, Jon said, "The marriage would provide a precious alliance with Tusaine. The infiltration that you speak of would certainly cease after such an affiliation was established." "I'm sick of bartering our children off like cows at a peasant fair, just for alliances!" Thayet cried. "Does it not matter that they have lives of their own to live?" "We're not bartering, though," he reminded her. "Lianne and Branten are in love; she wants to marry. And you've met Branten. He's a good fellow." Thayet snorted softly, then snatched the roll back from her husband and devoured it purposefully. "Oh, fine," she muttered, glaring at Jon. "I suppose we'd better let Lianne know."  
  
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From the moment Lianne received her parents' agreement to the marriage, her life accelerated into a blur. Between meetings with the floral arranger and the head chef and the court painter, she prepared for the next round of the Games. In addition, Jonathan insisted his daughter take part in working out a new Tusainian relations accord, in order to prepare her for regency and also for her to witness the long consequences of the actions of royalty. Lianne felt (quite correctly) the last bit was something of an admonishment. Oddly enough, those meetings were the only times Lianne saw Branten. It seemed he had no taste for the "womanly arts" of planning weddings, but instead favored working with Jonathan to convince his own father, the aged King Ain, of the marriage's benefits. Branten's cooperation went a long way to help Thayet's approval of him; for some reason Lianne couldn't comprehend, her mother regarded Branten in deep suspicion. In the midst of this bustle, Lianne had progressed to the last semi-final round of the Games. If she passed this round, she would compete for the top five places-she would be among the top five most talented original mages in the lands. If she did not pass, she would still leave the competition with honors.still, how wonderful to be a part of the final elite. These thoughts echoed, in beat with her throbbing headache, as Lianne sat in the great hall in the last semi-final lineup. All morning she had been experiencing a headache that was totally unnatural in both its sudden manifestation and its acute persistence. Lianne found it hard to concentrate on the ongoing competition with her head pounding relentlessly.  
  
"Princess Lianne of Contè, Tortall!" called the competition director. Remembering dully that she was supposed to go into the center of the hall, Lianne dragged her instruments along with her and collapsed on the chair. She picked up the steel drums and forced herself to strike them in the frustration demonstration; gasping, Lianne grimaced as the pain in her head increased. When she realized through the agony that her act was not succeeding in its emotional effect, Lianne plunged into the next demonstration with all the vigor she could muster. Wiping sweat off her forehead with a weary hand, she discarded her xylophone and reached down to the floor for the zither. Suddenly, pain shot through her head like crackling lightning, and she couldn't hold back the small sob which erupted from her lips. Mindlessly, she began the next emotion; within a few seconds of beginning, the pain tripled again, and Lianne closed her eyes in despair. An image immediately sprouted in her mind as the pain subsided a bit: a diamond, carved in a thousand faces so that it shone with a full spectrum, beautiful to the point of painful to behold, sparkling like the starred eyes of a God. The zither clattered out of her limp fingers onto the tiled floor as she crumpled.  
  
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I know. Another lame cliffhanger. I had to stop somewhere, and besides, I have wretched schoolwork to slave over. 


End file.
